The Curse of Camelot
Table of Contents
The Curse of Camelot
Publication Information
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
About the Author
Also Available
Also Available
Thank You
The Curse of Camelot
by
Gina Hollands
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Curse of Camelot
COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Gina Hollands
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2019
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2829-4
Published in the United States of America
Chapter One
Vivien filled the jug with bath water and poured it over Guinevere’s head. The queen sat upright in the metal tub and closed her sharp green eyes as the water cascaded over her body. Her fire-red mane of waves flattened against her slick wet breasts, reaching all the way to her navel, smooth and taut from never having born a child.
“Which knight have you summoned this eve, My Queen?”
“Sir Lancelot.” The reply came so smoothly out of those moist lips, but Vivien sensed her queen’s pain. Even though many years had passed, it was still there, burning like poison behind Guinevere’s pert bosom. Good. As long as Guinevere had fire in her belly, Vivien’s position at Camelot, in which she had invested so much, would remain secure.
“Then I shall go and permit him entry.” She held up a towel.
Guinevere rose, allowing her trusted sorceress to see her in all her naked glory. In her natural state, which only Vivien was permitted to see, Guinevere was slim to the point of shapeless. Her small breasts were barely more than rose-tipped buds, and her hips no wider than her waist. Although approaching the age when most women could no longer bare an heir, Guinevere’s lack of curves resembled the body of a woman not yet of an age to experience the pleasures of sexual union.
The thought dragged Vivien’s eyes to the large green jewel on the table beside her. “Your pendant, My Queen.”
Guinevere stepped out of the bathtub and raised her arms to allow Vivien to envelop her body in the towel.
“I’d fetch it for you, but—”
“Yes, Sorceress, I know what it does. Dry me first, then I shall retrieve it myself. I can’t have it hurt you. How could you possibly perform your work with scorched hands?”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Vivien patted the towel gently over Guinevere’s body, then dutifully took it away as she knew her queen desired. She always did like to watch the effects of the pendant without her body concealed by cloth.
With her lithe figure exposed once more, Guinevere stalked over to the table on which the gleaming jewel lay. She cupped her china-white hands over it and held them there for a beat. She groaned, and Vivien’s heart swelled as the glorious powers within the stone filtered into her queen. Her heart almost burst with pride.
I did that. I gave that jewel those powers. I, not Merlin and his antiquated wizardry. I, Vivien, Sorceress of Camelot, trusted confidante of Queen Guinevere.
Slowly, Guinevere lifted the pendant and raised her head to the looking glass behind the table. She draped the chain around her neck. The bold, green gem nestled between her breasts and stood out against her ivory skin, like an enormous star punctuating an otherwise clear sky. She arched her back, tilted her head, and gripped the table’s edge for support.
Vivien could never tear her gaze away from her queen whenever the transformation unfolded. It was such a beautiful sight, one she’d be pained to miss. She focused on Guinevere’s legs, where the change always began. Under the Sorceress’s watchful eye, the queen’s thin thighs fattened slightly, creating a healthier-looking woman, and her rear filled out to a curvier, more feminine shape. The power of the pendant then weaved its way through her veins to her mound, causing Guinevere to shake uncontrollably.
Vivien drew a sharp breath in, ready to see her favorite part of the process. The part that, for her, marked the critical transformation. Eyes wide so as not to miss a tiny detail of the scene she’d witnessed so many times before, she watched as the dark red hair between her queen’s legs lightened to cornfield gold, making what lie behind it visible to all who had the privilege of seeing.
Vivien’s own sex moistened as she watched the lips between Guinevere’s legs swell. Her queen groaned, louder this time, and brought one hand to her pussy while the other still gripped hard onto the edge of the table. She massaged her swollen lips with furious strokes, her fingers disappearing in and out of her cunt.
With her queen embroiled in the throes of her orgasm, the sorceress granted her own cunt the stimulation it screamed out for. Sliding her hand beneath her robe, she rubbed her hardened nub quickly and firmly. The resulting orgasm was stifled and rushed but satisfied her urges for now. She’d tend to herself better later, in the privacy of her own chamber, with flashbacks of her queen pleasuring herself filling her imagination. To allow Guinevere to see her indulging herself now, during the moment that belonged to her, would be the ultimate act of disrespect.
Guinevere’s groans died away to a whimper. She withdrew her hand from between her legs, then ran her fingers, glistening from the wetness of her pussy, up her navel to her chest, and rested a hand over the top of one breast. The other hand, having relaxed its grip on the table, rested on top of the other breast.
Her slippered feet silent on the stone floor, Vivien walked over to her queen and stood directly behind her. Both women watched the rest of the transformation take place through the looking glass. First, Guinevere’s hips widened, curving the bones away from her waist. Then, from behind her hands, her breasts rounded and blossomed. Darker, harder nipples protruded between the fingers that cupped them. Rather than covering dainty teats, Guinevere’s hands were now filled with soft, large breasts befitting of the sexual siren she had become.
Her face was the last to transform. Her lips reddened, her cheekbones sharpened, and her eyes grew as bright as the gem from which she gleaned her sexual lure.
She turned, facing Vivien head-on, her ripe nipples brushing the cotton of Vivien’s robe. “Well?”
Vivien raised her hands and ran them over and round her queen’s ample bosom. The sexual pull of Guinevere when wearing the pendant was too much for anyone to resist, and even with the antidote Vivien had mixed to grant her immunity, she still felt the power of the pendant stir at her center. She moaned, as low as she could, just to release the sensation. She’d hoped it was inaudible, but a cocked eyebrow and a hint of a smile from her queen showed her it was not.
She’s challenging me. She wants the power of the pendant to be so great the antidote is futile. Vivien straightened her posture. Serve her till the death, I may, but I created that pendant, and no-one, not even the queen, will prove too great for my sorcery.
“My Queen,” she said, fighting to
relax the clenched muscles at her core, “Sir Lancelot will be here soon. Save it for him. It is he who needs the strength from you. It would be wasted on me.”
Guinevere’s full red lips tilted into a full smile. “As you desire, sorceress.”
Vivien retrieved Guinevere’s chamber robe from over the door and arranged the silk garment around her beautiful, newly formed curves. “Are you ready to receive him?”
Guinevere turned back to the looking glass. She lifted her chin and stroked a hand down her neck, across her décolletage, and over her enlarged breasts sheathed by the white silk. “I most certainly am.”
****
The metal chains of Sir Lancelot’s training armor clattered against the floor as he sank to kneel before her, head bowed. “My Queen, you summoned me.”
Guinevere looked down at the man at her feet, the man she once loved. The only man she had ever loved. The man, who now looked pathetic in her presence. “Be standing, Sir Lancelot.”
He raised his broad body until he stood tall, towering a full head’s height above her. She took a step forward so they were as close as they could be without touching and looked up at his determined face shrouded with unruly blond hair that tumbled to muscular shoulders. “You look weary, my knight.”
He avoided her gaze. He avoided looking at her altogether. Instead, his eyes focused firmly at the window of her chamber.
She smiled to herself. He knows what will happen when he catches sight of me. He knows resistance is futile, and yet he attempts it anyway. His stoicism almost made her feel sorry for him. Almost, but not quite.
“There is little point in longing for escape, Sir Lancelot. As a Knight of the Round Table, you are presumably well aware that your duty is bound to the one who reigns over all of Camelot. And since Arthur’s demise, that, should you need reminding, is I.”
“Yes, My Queen.” His knee buckled, and he stumbled.
She knitted her brow. “I know I haven’t summoned you for some days, but why is your body so weak?” Her mind raced through the possibilities, and the onset of fury crept up her neck as she waited for him to confirm or deny her fears.
“My quest shall commence tomorrow, My Queen. I have been in training all day. If I am to be fit for battle I need to replenish my energies.”
“Which is precisely why you are here, although it is no answer to my question.” She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing his face for signs of deceit. “I do hope you haven’t betrayed me again, Sir Lancelot. You know what happened last time you entertained another woman’s company. Your bastard child, Galahad was born to you and that witch, Elaine. I cannot imagine you enjoyed the months of torture and isolation your disgraceful crime earned you. A lesser man would have succumbed to the pain and parted this world, I’ll give you that. It is for your resolution and persistence alone that I spared the lives of all three of you.”
He bowed his head. “I swear to you, I have not slept with any woman but you since the day Galahad was conceived. Elaine cast a spell over me that eve to have me believe she was you. That is the only reason I took her to my bed. I am truly humbled by your pardon, My Queen.”
“Yes, yes, I have heard your defense many times in the past. And since she is mother to your child, your status in our society dictated you must marry her, and all that other nonsense you’d no doubt regurgitate should I grant you opportunity, which, incidentally, I will not.” She spun away from him in a bid to keep her fury in check.
The pendant’s power was particularly strong tonight, and her heightened libido raged within her. Losing her temper and having Lancelot taken to the dungeon would do nothing to ease her longings. Yes, she could summon another knight, but tonight, she wanted to possess him, and him alone. She breathed deeply to calm herself and, drawing comfort from the memory of how, on her orders, Vivien had stripped Elaine of her witchcraft, she turned back to face him.
“You must no longer fear your wife’s trickery for, as you know, I have dealt with that little problem. Just remember, my knight, you and the rest of your Round Table compatriots pledge your bodies to one woman only. And that woman is me.”
“Of course, My Queen”. He raised his head again, resting his gaze once more on the window behind her.
She laughed and swiveled on her heel, walking over to her dressing table, on which a goblet of wine stood. She picked up the vessel and took a long swallow. “So, Sir Lancelot,” she said, hugging the goblet to her ample breast. “If you are to return victorious from your quest, we must replenish your energy for battle.”
He didn’t move, didn’t speak.
“Look at me, Lancelot.”
“Guinevere, I implore you to stop this, to release the Knights of the Round Table from the spell of the pendant.”
“You must refer to me always as Your Queen!” She slammed the goblet down onto the dressing table. Droplets of red wine spilled over the rim and stained a sheet of parchment beside it. She took deep breaths, her large chest heaving behind the silk of her robe. “How many times do I have to drum it into your thick skull? Arthur is dead. I am your ruler now, and I expect you to respect me as such. My reign. My rules. Do you comprehend?”
Other than the bob of his Adam’s apple, his body remained still and his eyes continued to avoid hers. “Apologies, My Queen. My use of your name is a relic from the days of our love.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. Why did he have to mention that?
She could deal perfectly well with their regular meetings of emotionless union until he brought up the subject of their past romance. A love she had so dearly invested in until…
The weight of the pendant pressed relentlessly into the cleft between her breasts, urging her to proceed with the act.
“Silence, knight!” she screamed. She was not going to let him soften her. She’d suffered enough at his hands. “I will hear no more of that wretched time. You know as well as I where that got us. Got me. Arthur restored your status. It was me whom he ordered to be burned alive, even though you, as I recall, were the one who instigated our affair.”
He looked down at his feet, and his straggled hair fell over his face. She would not abide this. Not when she’d been through so much to achieve the power she now possessed. Irritation stung at her skin like a swarm of relentless wasps.
“My knight, I ordered you to look at me!”
“Yes, My Queen.” He snapped his head up, and his blue eyes, dull from his weakened body, met hers with a flash of—what was that?—passion? Hatred?
She stalked over to him, her empowerment growing with every step as she watched his reaction to her transformed body. She stopped when she reached within an arm’s length of him. “Now, pledge the allegiance.”
“Guinevere, Queen of all of Camelot, I solemnly declare that I give myself to you, and only you. No other woman in this kingdom, nor in any kingdom of England or beyond, will tempt me to betray you. My body is yours. To you alone, I give my whole self.”
He lowered himself to one knee once more, head bowed.
“Then, Sir Lancelot, my knight, I grant you permission this eve to draw the strength you need for your quest from my womanly form.”
He lifted his head, then slowly rose to his feet. Without taking his eyes from hers, he shed his training chains and removed his sword from its scabbard around his waist until he wore nothing but his tunic. He stood before her, then wrapped his broad arms around her and pulled her into his chest. Like a red-blooded man hungry for sexual union, he ravaged her neck with starving kisses.
Her earlier fury dissipated, and her body relaxed. She moved her head around, allowing him to kiss every inch of the throat, and ran a hand down his hard, flat torso until she felt his phallus, long and stiff behind what little clothing he wore.
The air carrying his muffled groan was hot against her skin. Oh God, the magnificence of the power she had over him. It turned her on even more than the knowledge that his hard cock would soon be welcomed by her soft cunt, which was
already silently begging to be touched.
She continued to move her hand down his body until it reached the hem of his tunic. Shoving the fabric up to his waist as best she could from within his tight embrace, she felt for his bare cock and grasped it firmly. She stroked her hand over its silky ridges, delighting in its solid, aroused state. He buried his face into her hair and moaned his pleasure. Although he couldn’t see her face, she smiled.
However much they think they want to, they never can resist once they lay their eyes upon my beautiful body.
He found her lips and kissed her even hungrier than before, barely allowing her the space nor time to breathe. Then, he made his way down to where the neckline of her robe skimmed her cleavage. He licked the area where her breasts met, just above the pendant.
Her cunt buzzed in response. “Sir Lancelot, my body is ripe for you. You may take me now.”
“My Queen, first please grant me the favor of drinking from your breast. Your honey helps my battle-wounded body to heal.”
She wrenched down the neckline of her robe as far as it would allow, reached in, and pulled out each breast in turn, resting them on top of the silk. “Please, my knight, take what you need from me.”
He scooped her up and carried her over to her bed, where he sat with her cradled across his lap, her head propped against a pillow. She took hold of one of her breasts and offered him the large, dark nipple for his taking. He lowered his head and lapped at the teat until drops of golden liquid formed. The drops soon became a trickle, and with a deep tenor of appreciation, he clamped his mouth fully around her teat and sucked as if he hadn’t drunk for days.
Without disturbing him from his feast, she adjusted her body slightly to make herself more comfortable against his cock, which pressed like a heavy sword into her lower back. The constant stimulation of her nipple and the gentle squeeze of her breast as he massaged it with his hand to maintain the flow of honey, made her pussy crave its own stimulation. But she didn’t rush him. She needed him to draw as much strength from her as he could. He was, after all, a defender of her kingdom. She allowed him to drink until he was sated.